Thoughts of a Forgotten Night
by BackForBreakfast
Summary: Rimmer angst! Rimmer's thoughts during "Thanks for the Memory" as he considers his hologrammatic status and questions his free will. A one-off drabblet, so it's completed!


Disclaimer: None of the characters/places etc. in this fic belong to me. I am making no profit with this story.

A/N: I basically wrote this to loosen my writer's block a little – there's nothing like a bit of overdone Rimmer angst! XD This takes place during the Series II episode "Thanks for the Memory", on one of the nights before Rimmer discovers the letters. All reviews and comments are appreciated!

**Thoughts of a Forgotten Night**

Rimmer opened his eyes and smiled. He didn't smile often - sometimes his mind reeled in disgust at the thought – but tonight it felt like the most natural thing in the world. So natural, in fact, that he wondered why he hadn't done it more before. As his hologrammatic eyes adjusted to the darkness in the bunkroom, he could just about make out the outline of the chamber's single window. A faint blue light flooded in, casting itself upon the floor. It illuminated the rivets and the cold, metal seating, causing their dreary greyness to be momentarily disguised in a blanket of colour.

The hologram could hear his bunkmate snoring loudly above him. He smiled again, thinking amusedly to himself how much the sound would constantly grate on his nerves, wearing them away until they were brittle and paper-thin. Only this time, he didn't rise from his bunk, nor express his utter indignation at the sound. He just smiled, closed his eyes and sighed a long, deep sigh.

_What a crazy, crazy year that was_. As much as he racked his brain, he could not think why he had not mentioned it to Lister earlier. To gloat was one thing; to be able to tell the story, to speak it aloud with his own lips, was quite another. It occupied his every moment. Every stream of data that shot through his light bee was penetrated and mingled with pictures, sounds and images, each as clear and vivid as the next. It searched into every corner of his consciousness and burrowed there, digging deeply into the very core of his mind.

She had even infiltrated his dreams, worked her way into his subconscious. Rimmer creased his brow. _My dreams._ Dreams were a part of awareness, perception; dreams were a part of _life_. And yet Rimmer dreamt. He pondered this thought for a moment, his mind half-wandering to slumber. Perhaps there was more to him than that tiny piece of machinery, the light bee that held every drive, every memory, every neurosis he had ever experienced, buzzing inside him like a wasp around its nest. Cold, cruel fact told him that it was all a simulation – all these feelings, all these desires – they were the desires of a dead man, as worthless now as they had ever been. But something tried desperately to convince him otherwise; that they were his own, embraced and developed, constantly building on the foundation of that life.

He thought back to his double, the spiteful, malicious man with whom he felt ashamed to share his name; how his supposed equal had mocked him, taunted him and defeated him; how alike, and yet how different they were. Rimmer had changed, he knew that. He himself had never taken the Astronavigation exam, nor stayed in the dormitories at Io House; he had never sat at the Captain's Table, confronted with that vile, steaming bowl of soup that so frequently haunted his dreams. He could remember them all, but they were not his memories – merely those of somebody he so urgently wanted to forget.

He didn't know why he had moved to Liverpool that fateful year. To tell the truth, he didn't care. But if there were one piece of him he could forever cling to, it would be Lise. Lise was real. He couldn't understand all the sudden, inexplicable changes that had transpired for them to meet – they seemed so foreign to him, so strange – and yet they were wonderful; he couldn't fathom why things had gone the way they did, and he regretted it. He remembered, wincing, the time he had slammed the door when she suggested he get a career. He didn't know why he'd done it. Lister's voice echoed in his mind. _But I guess when you're in love, you go a bit crazy_.

He turned over onto his back, resting his hands against his chest. The same questions rushed through his head; questions that would take years to answer, some that would never be answered at all. His light bee buzzed inside him. Data ran through in countless streams; calculations whizzed past by the second. It made up its mind, and gave out a few short clicks. He had loved, and had been loved, and the answers to those questions became irrelevant.

So Rimmer didn't care. He just smiled, closed his eyes, and let his light bee send him into the void of simulated sleep.

**-FIN-**


End file.
